100 Ways To Embarass Lord Voldemort
by RTVfan
Summary: A collection of one shots showing Tom Riddle getting his butt kicked by other, better villains.
1. Sylar

_I probably should be adding another chapter to "The Infinite Mystery of the Force" or be finishing up "The New Shadow", but I'm just not in the mood to write them tonight. Just a little writer's block. :) As for now, I will regale you with various short stories on how the supremely arrogant yet desperately lame villain Tom Riddle, AKA "Lord Voldemort" repeatedly gets his ass kicked from better, sometimes even muggle, villains. Enjoy!_

Chapter 1-

"Loathe as I am to admit it, I read the muggle newspapers. I keep up on things, which is why I'm writing in this journal right now. You are a regular, cheap muggle diary, meant to be inconspicuous to the naked wizard's eye, and totally invisible to everyone else. I also keep you locked up in my personal vault, a chest that is part of my bed. I am about to visit New York City in the United States. There seems to be a unique form of muggle there with strange powers that I'm vaguely aware of. Mutants, or something they are called."

Tom drank the polyjuice potion, and flew on his own accord to London. He needed some time to study a growing menace. Various people who are biological abnormalities have been popping up with alarming frequency in the last few months. A writer named Mohinder Suresh published articles in the small newspaper "The Daily Bugle" about the abnormalities and how he was very close to isolating and replicating the variations responsible. There was supplemetal scientific articles available cheaply or freely online, but Tom says that he'll be damned before he learns to how to use the internet.

The airplane ride was uneventful and rather boring. His seat mate was quite an annoyance, asking stupid questions such as who made his suit("Brooks Brothers, now leave me alone"), whether he preferred the Iphone or the Blackberry("Any mobile phone is suitable, and I think the internet is for uneducated plebeians such as yourself"), and if he liked the in flight movie, which happened to be 'Twilight".

"No! I think it sucks! The acting is something a third year could improve on!"

"Thanks for the input, pal."

"Who are you anyway" demanded Voldemort.

"Documentary television maker" said the annoyance.

"Bullshit, you're probably just making some reality show" said an American man one seat behind Voldemort.

"Same thing."

"They are NOT the same thing" said the American man.

"Alright, it is. OK? What the hell do you do besides start arguments?"

"I'm a lawyer."

"Bloodsuckers" said the documentary/Reality TV maker.

"You're one to talk."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. Sorry. Sorry to you too." He patted the beat of the seat Voldemort was sitting in.

The plane landed in JFK, and Voldemort was glad to be off. He cast a Supersensory Charm on himself in the bathroom, just to be careful. He exited as quickly as possible, as he couldn't stand the dopey grin of the muggle he killed and borrowed a piece of hair from.

This was supposed to be a secret mission, so he was surprised when he accidentally bumped into another wizard. Good old yank Humphrey Cunningham. Tom was momentarily stunned, performed legilimancy, and affirmed that this was merely a very passable lookalike.

Voldemort left the airport, and went to the nearest place he could find that wasn't being monitered, which he discovered to be very difficult in a city like New York. Especially near an airport. He shot out several security cameras he sensed, and apparated away to a more familiar location. After some sleuthing, he thought he had discovered Mohinder Suresh's place of work. He found a bench to sit on and contemplated how he should approach this. This was The Company. Suresh's article had said that he was based in Chennai, India, but that the further research was done in this very building he was sitting in front of. It didn't take very much effort or Imperius' on muggles working for this "Company" to know where all the bruhaha went on. Suddenly, Voldemort sensed someone behind him. Someone invisible. Using the supersensory charm, he knew that the phantom was a human. He could sense his heartbeat.

Or was it?

Sylar's sound manipulation fooled Voldemort into complacency. Whoever this guy was, Sylar's been thinking about him for months. Courtesy of enhanced parallel reality knowledge from his latest victim, Delaware University researcher Adam Colbert. He never suspected that he had powers. This guy though, who is obviously a shapeshifter at the very least, in one possible parallel world took over the United Kingdom after killing some kid named Harry Potter. Sylar wondered if he should go after him too. Maybe...

Since this was a very public area, it was very prudent to do this fast. Sylar waited inside the doorway, and as Voldemort walked across the street, Sylar went into the nearest bathroom.

_Um, excuse me, I have an appointment with a Mohinder Suresh._

The secretary, imperioed, obliged, and told Tom that he had an office on the very first floor, just twenty doors down. Appearently, Primatech was also moonlighting as a think tank for green energy.

What was that?

"Oh, the bathroom", Tom said to himself.

He sometimes forgot to go the bathroom, since he was technically a golem in a very loose sense of the word. Still, that was a loud toilet. These automatics are distracting, he thought. The much preferable method were the latrines found at Hogwarts. Everything was better at Hogwarts.

Tom opened the door to the bathroom, and his legs were frozen solid. Courtesy of James Walker's powers, now Sylar's. He made an immediate attempt to apparate out, but Sylar was quicker as he saw this happening two weeks ago and shot him with a simple pistol.

"What? You don't die?"

"No, you f*cking muggle. Avada Keda-"

Sylar used his telekinesis to grab Voldemort's wand.

"Nice piece. Wizard, huh? I hope your brain works the same way a mutant's does."

And eventually, Sylar did eat Voldemort's brain. His least satisfying meal yet. Especially since this guy couldn't die. But he has all his powers now, and experimented with a few spells. He had a holster for this thing. Now that he inherently knows magic, he'll also probably be under the jurisdiction of whatever kind of government magical people had. Sylar wished he had telepaty. Voldemort was now an invalid, wiggling on the floor.


	2. Freddy Krueger

"That _child!" _yelled Lord Voldemort through his teeth. He was sitting in the study of Malfoy Manor, holding a goblin by his throat, shaking the corpse like a rag doll. He screamed, and tossed the body of the unknown worthless husk to the side of the room.

"Who was this being?" he pronounced in a high, clear voice.

"He-e hiss name wasss Don Quixote, sir" said a helpless banker.

"What kind of a name is that?"

"It, it it it is a muggle name from a story of theirs, my lord."

"Should have known" said Voldemort, almost to himself.

"Leave" said Voldemort to the goblin, and the poor, pathetic thing ran out the door as fast as he could.

It was unfortunate, since goblins have magic that is usually beyond that of humans, and this was an opportune time to relieve the big bad of his wand. It had been laying on Voldemort's left armrest while a ball of white energy sat in his hand, while in turn his other hand was occupied with it's useless bravado of a madman who knew he was past his prime.

The ball of white energy was the very soul of Don Quixote, the goblin. He was wondering what to put it in. Nothing worthwhile was in the Malfoy's house. Nothing. It was all garbage, except for the house itself.

"_Eureka!" _shouted Voldemort.

He would perform a spell that would bind one eighth of his soul into the very grounds of Malfoy Manor. It was the perfect plan, since Potter couldn't possibly destroy the Earth beneath his feet, let alone get inside the grounds of the noble house of Black. It would gladly make up for the loss of inherent luckiness of number seven. Or would it?

The spell didn't take very long, in fact it took only a few minutes, but to Voldemort it seemed like it took a half hour. What remained of his soul internally was but a tiny fragment, and it was a lonely, desecrated, filthy one at that. He felt tired and useless. He collapsed in the middle of the floor, right next to a comfortable chair.

He awoke, and saw that the grandfather clock was striking Midnight.

"Blast!" He missed Potter and his bloody stupid friends. He predicted that they would come tonight, and they could have gotten to the diadem by now. Speaking of which, why didn't anyone try to wake him in the six hours he's been asleep?

"There's going to be Hell to pay" he said, grandly.

Voldemort went to the door, opened it...and there were three muggle girls doing some stupid game involving one of them jumping rope.

"One, two, Freddy's coming for you" they sang.

He blasted them out of the way with a little wave and muttering. He then walked past the three charred remains of the _confringo'd _muggle girls.

The hallway was not particularly decorated to Tom's liking, with a 12 century portrait of some long sleeping ancestor of the Black's muttering to himself about haggis being the most annoying adornment.

"Who the hell is Freddy anyway?" said Tom to himself.

"I am."

Voldemort immediately turned around and shot another direct confringo charm just out of habit. He felt someone breathing on his neck, and that voice...who was that. It sounded like an American. Tom couldn't stand Americans, whether wizard or muggle.

Was it a poltergeist, like the one that haunts the Hogwarts castle? If it was, Voldemort wasn't too worried. He was practically immortal anyway. What is a poltergeist going to do when he sues the buggers ass with an eviction notice? Huh? That's right.

"I bet you heard me thinking that, poltergeist!" said Tom, madly.

He then walked, and thought to himself that the confringo charm actually somehow _improved_ the look of the hallway. How it did in fact, nobody knows. Don't ever try and discuss interior decorating with a madman like Tom Riddle.

He opened the hallway door leading to the parlor. But the parlor wasn't there. It was an exit. An exit to a place Voldemort never wanted to go back to. Trunchbull.

He saw Dumbledore hurry along the sidewalk on that miserable, overcast, rainy day in London. He was wearing a cloak. He didn't remember Dumbledore wearing a cloak over his head. What's going on here? Voldemort immediately apparated right next to the seeming phantom and grabbed him by the shoulders.

"Who ARE you?"

Voldemort pulled the cloak off the man's head, and revealed a burnt, nasty face. His eyes were cold, remorseless and evil. Totally detached of any humanity, just like him.

"I'm the stuff nightmares are made of, baby", and the burnt man just walked on into the building.

Tom ran into the building and demanded to know who this man was.

He turned and said, angrily, "Frederick Charles Krueger, now leave me the fuck alone."

"Legilimens!"

Voldemort was momentarily stunned. Memories flashed before his eyes, of the rape, murder and torture of litterally hundreds of kids and the occasional adult, all over the United States. He tried his best to overcome the rush of sick memories and try and turn it against this man, and maybe make him feel the same pain, but it was to no avail. He felt no response from this "Freddy Krueger."

Back in reality, Tom now shot a well aimed cruciatus curse with as much force and malice as he could muster.

"Argghhhhhh!! You asshole!"

Freddy was standing over the dead body of Mrs Cole, who was stabbed in the throat by four blades extending from the sleeve of Krueger's right arm. It wasn't that Tom wasn't glad that the muggle woman was dead, but it was _he_ who wanted to do it.

Freddy ran down the hall, heading towards Tom's old room. He was fast, but Voldemort was faster with apparation.

"Confringo! Confringo! Bombarda maxima! CRUCIO!"

Krueger's body was splattered all over the walls and the floors of the anti septic hallway. The prison like hallway, Voldemort noted to himself.

He was out of breath, and exhausted in his as of late out of character behavior.

Voldemort walked down the hallway to his room. He stared at the wooden door for one second too many, and turned the knob.

Inside his room was a coffin. Doing a scanning charm, Voldemort saw his own body inside, in a modern muggle suit. His stopped breathing.

Suddenly, Krueger was back from the dead, pushing Voldemort in the room with the forceful push of a trolls strength, and the casket magically opened.

"Look at it!" This voice was coming from inside his own mind. He was going mad.

Voldemort suddenly blasted the whole room apart with _fiendfyre_. The ruins gave way the entire building, and all that was left was fire and brimstone. Endless evil and dearth of hope or love. He was in Hell.

"I thrive in here, baby" said the demon. "I've been looking for an evil bastard just like myself, and eventually I found you. "You're not up to snuff. You're an Adolf Hitler wannabe. With benefits. You're the origin story of the freaking Batman for crying out loud!"

"I can't be dead, I'm immortal!" cried the Dark Lord.

"Tommy old boy" said Freddy, who instantaeously apparated near Voldemort, rubbing his chin, "You're not dead. Look above you."

He saw Bellatrix screaming for healers. He also saw the Malfoy's in the background, looking ashamed and lost. They needed a leader, even one that they were afraid of.

"You're not dead. You're just in a coma. So now's my time to leave and bid you adieu. Happy trails, Voldy! Hahahahaha..."

Where the hell did the suitcase come from?

Epilogue: The Wizarding War effectively but with much trepidation ended when healers could not bring Voldemort out of a magically induced coma. He was laid on permanent rotation all around Malfoy Manor, with the Black's being sued under the new jurisdiction of the muggle born friendly Ministry of Magic. On a much sadder note, Freddy Krueger eventually got to Harry too, and put him in a coma when he realized that his reality warping powers couldn't undo the conundrum of having a piece of someone else's soul inside his body. Voldemort watched, from the deep pits of Hell, Harry chatting with the angel that was Albus Dumbledore. They played card games and chatted like old friends, and communicated with the school. Harry even had his own honorary portrait hung in the Great Hall, where he communicated with new students every year, and learned to live with his new unlife. That is, until Krueger learns to undo the magic spells that keep this all together.


End file.
